The Contest!

For reasons now lost in the past, several of us from Trinity College are in the midst of a beard-growing contest. It seems to me the contest arose from ongoing banter as to which of us, due to poor facial hair, would have the worst beard. Men being men, it wasn't enough to know we couldn't grow a beard; we had to show everybody it was true. And here we are: two weeks into a four-week contest.


Me, post shave.


Me at two weeks. Yes, the hair is ginger (as they say here), which apparently is a big insult. It cuts deep.


Jimmy our housemate at two weeks. Unfortunately, it's universally recognised that Jimmy is in last place. The price of losing is to shave the hair into a foo mustache and attend the end of year celebration. Now, some have suggested an ammendment because Jimmy has such little facial hair as to nullify the shame of the foo-stache. The ammendment would be shaving an eyebrow.


Cei, the Welsh Wonder, at two weeks. Cei has an interesting situation. After a long dating drought (28 years to be exact), he's landed one next week. The problem, of course, is the beardish growth on his face. As of today, he's leaning toward shaving and incurring the penalty of leg waxing. He figures he can still avoid losing the contest by growing more in the last week than Jimmy has in the month. It looks like it's getting ugly, people.


Dave at two weeks. Dave is currently one of the contest frontrunners, though he's also been oppressed because of his ginger hair.


Jon at two weeks. Jon currently has charges pending over alleged cheating for not shaving his sideburns for the contest. The penalty would be loss of an eyebrow in addition to the foo-stache.


Me at two weeks. Though the picture doesn't show it well, I've actually had relative success with the beard. In fact, I might be disqualified if proven I had full knowledge prior the contest of beard-growing capability (which is the chief contest rule).